


Coccinelle

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasy, Identity Reveal, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Slow Burn, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: After keeping her powers a secret for years, Marinette's bewildered when someone else with abilities steps into the spotlight. He's charming, wears casual clothing, and seems to have a fixation with her that she doesn't quite understand. AU.





	Coccinelle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfahelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfahelix/gifts).



> Hi, Helix! I know we haven't really spoken much, but I got you for our discord exchange, so I really hope you like this! I had people vote on tumblr for the prompt since I didn't know what to do;; It was supposed to be filled with hate and be more angsty, but that didn't happen at all.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

It had started months ago.

Marinette had been tired, tapping away on her phone while the train was moving, the music playing on her headphones quiet and mellow, not quite drowning out all of the noise around her. And yet, she'd managed to almost fall asleep, swaying to the side a bit, and it was when there was a sharp turn that she faltered and fell to her side.

Thankfully, someone had been there to catch her, and with some awkward laughs, a sort of friendship had sprouted.

Adrien, he introduced himself as.

He got on two stops before her, and got off the one after her for his job.

She saw him more frequently, exchanging a few tentative smiles at first, before they found seats beside each other.

Then, they started to gradually talk more than the pleasantries, and her headphones found their way onto her neck during the ride, all so she could talk to him.

He was a pleasant constant in her life; five times a week, a twenty minute ride in the mornings, and his sense of humour matched her brand of stupid in the mornings, meaning they often got a few looks for talking loudly at such an early time.

She started to look forward to the morning.

Whether to see his bright smile, the way he ran his hand through his blond-coloured hair, or even his charming personality—that managed to keep her attention when he was speaking about some television show or game that she'd never heard of before, only because he was so happy talking about them—there were a lot of reasons that she liked sitting with him.

He asked her about little things, too. Like whether she'd spoken to a friend she'd mentioned in passing, if she tried to treat at a coffee-shop that she was contemplating, or even how she preferred her coffee.

It was really sweet of him to remember.

And when she spotted him the next day, just to see the two cups in his hands, her chest had felt as warm as the liquid inside from seeing how pleased he looked.

As he continued to buy them coffee each morning, Marinette bought food the next morning, only eating a little bit of hers, as she felt nauseated if she ate too much while travelling.

Adrien offered, “We could go somewhere to eat, if you'd like? Another time, of course.”

She'd said yes.

There was something about him that made her feel normal.

That was rare to find.

Their arrangement didn't last for more than six months.

She'd thought that he might've taken a day off, may have gotten a later train because he'd gotten delayed, but after he hadn't appeared for a whole week, a sinking feeling appeared in her stomach.

It wasn't because of the uneaten food on her lap.

Their friendship had been a spur of the moment thing, something that only lasted when they were in the train together. The only mention of meeting up had been for food the previous week; and yet, it had disappeared along with him.

Marinette stopped bringing food.

The headphones went back on after two weeks.

She turned the volume up louder.

The biggest regret was that she didn't get his number.

-x-

Television was grating.

Marinette had a blanket wrapped around her, huddled up on the sofa, staring absent-mindedly at the television playing. She could hear her room-mate humming while cooking in the kitchen behind her, happy and content as his attention was on his task at hand.

There was a stark difference between the two of them.

The news came on again.

Marinette frowned, not even having to lift a finger for the device to turn off.

The silence was filled by Luka's humming.

She reached for her phone instead, opening up an application and scrolling through different posts, trying to find something to amuse her.

The daily commute had ended abruptly two months ago.

Marinette hadn't done anything to change it, accepted what had happened, and she hadn't gone back on that particular train since.

Luka's hair was starting to fall into his eyes, causing him to blink rapidly if he didn't move it. But he was stubborn, didn't want to get it cut unless it was by a specific person, and that meant there was another week wait.

He was trying to convince her to come along, to get her hair cut.

She didn't really see the point.

It wasn't like she went out often, not any more. There wasn't a reason to, not when she was self-sufficient, able to live day-to-day without a job, and barely had to raise a finger to take care of herself—or, rather, her definition of care.

Luka didn't approve.

He never did, not even when she was younger.

Luka snapped his fingers to get her attention. “You okay there, Mari?”

She blinked.

“Come on.” He sighed. “We're eating at the table.”

Their table was lopsided, could barely hold three plates on it, and the two chairs were creaky—but it was theirs, something that they'd picked out together when they'd first moved in together, and they hadn't seen any reason to replace it. Not when it was only them that lived there, at least.

They didn't have guests often.

He didn't have whether she was okay.

That question got stale after a while.

Instead, their conversation was relaxed, topics focused on ones that they could both be enthusiastic about; from how his job was going, about games that they played together, or mentions of his sister and their friends that she hadn't seen in weeks.

Then, he ran a hand through his dark-coloured hair and sheepishly admitted, “I might've tripped over and broke our hair-dryer, by the way.”

Marinette snorted.

“It was an accident,” he defended.

“I'm sure,” she replied, insincere. “This is, what? The second one?”

He looked close to sulky. “It's not my fault I keep tripping over the wire.”

“If you actually wore your glasses—you know, like you're supposed to—this wouldn't be a problem,” Marinette pointed out.

He frowned. “But then my fringe is even more annoying.”

“Part it.”

Luka shuddered. “ _No_.”

It was fixed the next day.

For someone that had known her from when she was a child, small and constantly crying when she was frustrated, Luka was the only one that had stuck around consistently. When she'd shut out her other friends, could barely manage to make it through the day, he'd been the one that came knocking on her door, wondering where she'd been.

It didn't matter that he was older, wasn't in her classes—it mattered that he'd come to see her, so unlike anyone else.

And that had stuck.

Luka didn't mind that she didn't have a job. He said that if it was the best for her, then he'd support her. It wasn't as though she was in need of any money; that part was covered greatly.

He really did convince her to come to the salon with him.

They were seated beside each other, though. Marinette could understand, but she was still awkward as the gown was put on her, her hands underneath it clasped together and fiddling, trying to keep herself distracted.

She got her fringe trimmed, the ends of her hair almost at her elbows.

The hairdresser didn't try to make much conversation with her. Instead, there was music playing throughout the store, filling in any silence that was there after the devices were turned off.

Sadly, that meant that the news came on at one point.

“There's been another sighting—”

Her hands tensed.

The radio abruptly changed station, classical music coming through the speakers. She could see in the mirror as the hairdresser gave her fellow employee a confused look, the two of them clearly baffled about what had happened.

Marinette's face was blank.

Luka didn't mention anything when they left.

When they passed a stand with newspapers and magazines, she didn't look at any of the covers. She knew what would be there after years of absence, that nothing would be buried and forgotten, no matter how long she waited.

It was too late to change that.

Her hands were in her pockets, scarf wrapped around her neck, covering part of her chin, as they walked through the streets. Luka had convinced her to go a nearby market, one that appeared every year, and she couldn't really say no to him when he looked at her so hopefully.

There was a lot of merchandise—not official, of course, but many stalls that were selling their own kind, from jewellery to shirts, and even bags with pictures embroidered or printed on freely. For all the goods that were related to obscure music, television shows, or games, the amount for what were considered local legends were double that.

She gritted her teeth.

Luka was browsing the items, looking for something specific, while Marinette was hovering in the path, staying away from the crowds, trying to warm up her numb fingers in her pockets. There were stalls for hot drinks and food, but the queues were far too long.

But she gave up after a while, after realising how long Luka would be taking looking at each stall, instead tapping his shoulder and gesturing that she was going to both get them drinks.

He grinned.

The queue almost went around the corner.

Marinette adjusted scarf, shoving her hands back into her pockets, that coins that she was going to use able to be felt.

They were sold out of everything but something she didn't want by the time that she made it to the front. Marinette just sighed, stepping back out onto the street, looking to see whether there was another vendor nearby that didn't have outrageous queues—

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

She hadn't thought it was meant for her, not until they spoke to say, “Excuse me, miss?”

He was tall, had a hood pulled up, but even then, it was hard to place the features of his face. It felt as though she was staring with her eyes unfocused when she was looking straight at him, unable to make out his features—

And that could only mean one thing, even with the hood that was probably supposed to hide his identity.

“Here,” he quickly said. “This is for you.”

But before she could say anything—anything at all—he held out a takeaway cup for her, a little forcefully so some foam came out of the top.

She took it into her hand, bewildered.

As fast as that had happened, he'd turned around, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving her with a warm cup of coffee in her hand that she definitely hadn't ordered.

Luka noticed her odd expression when she returned, but he chose to focus on, “Why'd you only get one?”

“Sold out,” she blankly replied, passing it over to him. “Here, you can have it.”

He took a sip. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go nuts.”

“It's your favourite,” he said. “We can share it, if you want.”

That irked her more. “No, thank you.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

-x-

Noir, they called him.

A sign of hope, the news said.

A bother, Marinette thought.

There was only so much she could listen to; to hear them singing his praises, telling of all the good, all the accomplishments he'd managed in such a short amount of time—

And the comparisons.

It was _ridiculous_.

She constantly changed the channels, turned off a video when it popped up, but that didn't mean she could avoid it forever. There were always going to be bits that slipped through the cracks, posts she read that didn't make sense until it named him, and with talks of a film coming out, it was all anyone wanted to talk about.

Noir didn't shy away from talking to reporters that asked him questions on the street, but he never did one-on-ones, didn't sit on their fancy couches and answer everything they wanted to know.

He wasn't chosen to sit around and play nice, that's what he'd said.

It frustrated her.

Who was he to decide why he was _chosen_ in the first place? There was no reason for him to run around the city, to do next to nothing with his useless powers.

Marinette barely left her home.

It was only because of Luka that she did at all.

He encouraged her, tried to help her better herself, but there wasn't much hope in that any more, was there?

Marinette wasn't an optimist.

She hated how it was considered news whenever Noir was spotted outside; whether he was just walking down the street, clearly minding his own business, or stopping to take pictures with all the fans that had turned up to greet him.

It made her stomach churn uncomfortably.

That kind of attention, the pressure that was surely with it—it was everything she didn't want and more.

Marinette's hands felt sweaty just from thinking about it.

Getting their groceries was the least she could do while Luka was at work.

The weather was still terrible. She put on her new favourite pair of gloves before leaving, glad that her fingers wouldn't be numb any more, and trotted down the road towards the supermarket, her familiar pair of headphones on her head.

It was a normal scene for her, one she completed weekly, but something changed that week.

After she'd walked outside with her purchases, Marinette had paused, putting the bags on the floor as she went to slip her headphones back on.

It was then that someone came up beside her.

“Would you like some help?”

Startled, she looked up, eyes meeting a chest before they darted upwards, able to see the hooded figure in front of her. The difference from before, however, was that there was a clear pair of earmuffs on him, but his facial features were still fuzzy.

There'd been a lot of rumours about how that happened.

That didn't explain why he was standing in front of her again. “What?”

“With your bags,” he elaborated, gesturing down to her feet. “I've got some free time, so, if you'd like, I could carry them for you?”

Noir shouldn't have been there, let alone talking to her for the second time in so many hours.

Marinette frowned.

“No, thank you,” she rejected him quietly.

And yet, he continued to stand there. “You—you don't want any help?”

“No,” she repeated, slower that time.

The bewilderment was clear in his voice. “Why?”

“Because I can manage just fine?” she pointed out, gesturing towards the bags. “Besides, wouldn't you just draw more attention? Someone's going to see you and, like, scream for your attention.”

Noir's outfit was as casual as ever. It was part of the reason why fans liked him so much; from swearing sweatpants, loose trousers, or jean shorts when it wasn't so cold, he dressed like any other young male that followed fashion trends. His outfits were clean, well put together, and the blond hair that was hidden had already become immensely popular with hair stylists.

She imagined that if his face was fully visible, some would strive to replicate it.

Even with the permanent blur, many had tried to correct it on the computer, trying to edit his features to make him appear like anyone else, but nothing came out quite right; everyone got different results, unable to agree on any.

“I'm not _that_ eye-catching,” he countered.

“Yeah, no,” Marinette replied. “There's candid shots of you everywhere. Plus, I'm not walking down some alley so you can carry my stuff. I'm fine, thank you.”

He shifted his feet. “Really?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. Then, realising that she was coming across rude, no matter how much she disliked the idea of him, she added on, “I—thanks for the offer, but I really don't need it.”

He didn't say anything to that.

Picking up her bags, she offered him a strained smile before she walked away.

She didn't turn around to see whether he was still there.

It was just—it was _weird_ , wasn't it? The drink by itself was strange—but it definitely hadn't been tampered with, not when Luka hadn't suffered from it at all—but for him to appear outside and offer to help her out of nowhere?

Curious, she looked up his name on certain websites, specifically the blogs that were dedicated to posting his every movement, complete with dates and the names of locations.

There was a picture of him a few streets from the supermarket, but he wasn't helping anyone.

There was no heroic deed credited to him that day.

Not that they were really that heroic in the first place, but his powers made anything a spectacle.

He didn't rush into fights with drunkards, didn't beat up random civilians; it was more like using his powers in clever ways to resolve a mundane situation without any more trouble.

Even those as small as helping a owner get their cat back.

That had been her thing, once upon a time.

Now, they hailed his name and put pictures of him holding cats on the front pages of newspapers.

She wasn't bitter at him, but that didn't mean that she had to like him.

Somehow, that wasn't the only other time that she saw him. No, instead, the following week when she was walking to the nearest laundromat, she stiffened when she saw who was inside.

It was late, enough so that the lights were on outside and barely anyone was walking the streets, and yet, there was Noir, dressing in his casual clothing, forgoing the hood as he fiddled with his phone.

She almost turned right back around.

It was only the dirty clothes in her bag and the tiredness of her body that had her coming in.

Marinette purposely went on the side opposite him, not looking his way again, going about her business. The plan had been to just sit and wait until it was done, not wanting to leave—not like she could when it was that late at night—but he definitely hadn't been a part of that.

She'd managed to put her clothes in before he noticed her.

“Hey,” Noir greeted, lazily holding up a hand into what couldn't have been considered a wave.

After nodding in return, Marinette settled down on the seat, purposely taking out her phone and starting to type it.

She regretted not saving up enough energy to fix their washing machine.

The quiet only lasted for five minutes.

Then, Noir broke it with a drawn out, “So...”

She didn't hold back her sigh. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” There was a pause. “Someone to entertain me, that's all.”

Marinette didn't answer, instead bringing up another page on her phone, trying to read the text.

He started whistling.

Not bringing her headphones was another one of her bad decisions. Luka was in bed, meaning that she couldn't use an excuse to call him, and she didn't want to disturb anyone else, not at such a late time. She wasn't as comfortable with them as she was with him.

It wasn't that she felt on edge with Noir in the same room as her; rather, all the negative emotions bubbled to the surface, the resentment for his praise and how easy it seemed for him clear for her to feel, and she loathed herself for always thinking that way.

But differences between them were undeniable.

“What's your name?” he asked.

She tapped away at her screen.

“I could try and guess,” Noir mused. “But it might take a while, and I don't want to offend you. Isn't it weird when some people get like that? Like, I didn't put my heart and soul into the guess, but looking ready to maim me for assuming you're called Greg is a little much.”

It was clear he had no problem talking to himself.

He proved that for what she presumed to be two minutes.

She breathed out slowly. “Can you be quiet, please?”

“Oh,” he said. “You're not trying to sleep, are you?”

With the amount of noise the machines were making, she doubted that would happen at all. “What do you want?”

“I already said—”

“You keep popping up,” she pointed out, still looking down at her phone in her lap, not turning around to look at him. Besides, with the blurred vision, it was hard to identify his expressions in the first place. “Can you just... I want to know what you want.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, he quietly replied, “I was here first.”

“Does that really matter?” Marinette countered. “You gave me my favourite coffee before, then turned up out of nowhere to try and walk me home? I know you didn't do anything in the area that day, so don't you think that's—that's a little weird?”

It was more than she'd wanted to say, but she didn't regret it. Being upfront was worth it in the long run, able to get to the point, despite being so blunt.

Of all the things he could've said, he softly came out with, “I missed you, that's all.”

Her thumb paused.

“Marinette,” Noir said, not at all stumbling on the pronunciation her name. “I'm sorry we couldn't go out to eat together.”

It didn't—it didn't add up at all. He shouldn't have known her name in the first place, let alone what her favourite coffee was, and definitely not some plans that she'd almost had with someone.

Her throat felt tight.

When she didn't reply, he gently called out, “Marinette?”

She didn't want to turn around, to see someone she'd considered a friend be the person that she felt the most resentment towards. For him to be so comfortable with himself, to seem like there was no problems, felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach—

It would've felt too real to call out his name.

After all, no one knew who Noir was. He came out of nowhere, popping up and taking the city by storm with a flood of supporters within the first week.

It hadn't never clicked, not really. The disappearance of Adrien and the introduction of Noir hadn't been connected, never should've been, and the timelines had never been even considered, not when there were thousands of citizens living in the only city he was known to be in.

She felt nauseated.

Holding her phone too tightly, she stood out, walking towards the door before she really knew what she was doing.

There weren't any footsteps following her.

She walked out of sight of the windows, not looking back to check whether he was looking, her heart beating loudly in her chest.

It was just her luck, wasn't it?

Her eyes felt itchy.

She'd really liked him, too.

But things were never easy for her, were they? For someone that could bend reality, she didn't have control over much of her life.

Sometimes, she wondered whether it was a curse.

If Adrien was gone, she didn't want to know Noir. She didn't want to acknowledge that he was everything she should've been, what the people wanted; someone to shoulder the expectations and rise above, being someone that the citizens could love and look up to.

Instead, she was a recluse that rarely left her home.

She was close to crying by the time she wandered back to the laundromat.

Noir wasn't there, and his clothes were gone.

Somehow, that made it worse.

-x-

Noir continued to help out.

For someone that was capable of destroying anything he put his mind to, he didn't like being told what to do. There had been some that had campaigned, tried to gain support for their idea of using his powers to replace hard jobs—but that wasn't realistic.

Noir rarely did what others asked of him.

However, if he came across someone that had managed to lock their car with their keys left inside, he did safely break the lock in a matter of seconds, giving them a passing salute before going back on his way.

It was the small things that he liked to do.

No supervillains, no arch nemesis that was dead set against him, or drug rings that he was breaking up. That was an absurd thought at all, wasn't it?

There wasn't anyone that made it their life mission to ruin his. Noir was an exception, someone that had appeared with powers that no one else could even think about having, and no one else had really been effected. It hadn't spread to others, no reports in other countries were made known around the world for the spectacular feats people could do, and it wasn't something that had came from a freak accident.

Noir had said that, at least.

He was the second of his kind, the one that was active, most vocal, and all the public were getting.

That didn't mean that people didn't want him to be diagnosed, though.

Noir hadn't done anything wrong to warrant that.

“He's a nuisance, sure, but a helpful one, at times,” would be the answer in interviews about him.

No one really said that about her, not any more.

She was bitter just thinking about it.

Life went on, of course. The revelation that her missing friend had turned out to be Noir didn't change much, and her feelings for him stayed relatively the same—the ones for Noir, that was. It was easy to push aside how fond of him she'd been, back when they'd sat side-by-side, sipping coffee and sharing shy smiles.

That wasn't going to happen any more.

One of the songs Luka composed made it to number one on the radio, and that was the best thing that happened to her in months.

He was ecstatic, naturally, and they celebrated with cake and belting out the lyrics loudly together, surely annoying the neighbours with their enthusiasm. But it was a first for him, something he'd been hoping to achieve for years, and she was ever-so-proud of him for making his dream happen.

She didn't really know what her dream was any more.

Marinette's life hadn't really had a clear outline for years.

It was obvious when she didn't turn off the television immediately when Noir was shown, but she didn't think that Luka would catch onto that fact as quickly as he did.

“Why?” he asked, not elaborating further.

He didn't have to, not really. She knew what he meant, and it wasn't what she was going to respond to.

“He reminds me of someone I knew,” Marinette replied, not looking at Luka. “But he—I haven't seen him in a long time.”

There was no doubt she wasn't talking about herself.

Luka didn't press her for any more answers, didn't want to make her do anything that she didn't want to. And while she appreciated it, she wondered why he let her get away with not doing much; it wasn't as though she wasn't aware that she was living unhealthily, that she wasn't helping herself in any way, but he continued to let her be.

In comparison to how much of a recluse she was, going out rarely with him wasn't a big change.

Marinette purposely went out to shop for clothes, rather than ordering online. It was awkward by herself at first, but she didn't have to wander around in stores she wasn't interested, didn't even have to stop for food, and she got through it quicker than she thought she would.

Luka's younger sister, Juleka, had a birthday party.

Wearing her new dress that she'd bought alone, Marinette didn't interact with many people there. A lot of the people present were ones that Juleka had met in university and further, not from the schools that she'd attended with her when they were younger.

She mostly stuck with Luka, and he was just as awkward with people that he didn't know. But it was his sister's party, and he wanted to be there to celebrate with her, even if he was a tad embarrassed when they played his song loudly, all pointing at him.

There was happiness there, and she had to squash the ugly feeling in her chest.

She was happy for them, truly.

She just wanted it for herself.

-x-

Being active was important, but Marinette wasn't a morning person.

She starting running in the evenings, feeling out of place, but she had earphones in her ears—not her trusty headphones, sadly—and was able to run further with each passing day, even if her muscles ached in the mornings.

It was something to aspire to, at least.

She had fads with things; a personality where she was obsessed with certain things she liked, never quite being able to do something in moderation, before she moved onto the next thing. It had been painting before, but she'd grown bored of that, the canvases discarded in her room, shoved under the bed.

She'd even invested in an expensive pair of shoes.

Luka didn't say anything negative about her moving onto a new hobby, only admitting that he wished that he had the motivation to do such a thing.

She wasn't sure whether that was the right way to phrase it.

When she'd slowed to a stop, chest heaving as she tried to get her breath back, fringe sticking to her forehead terribly, it was then that she saw someone walking on the other side of the road.

It wouldn't have been anything significant if it wasn't for the face that she couldn't quite make out—but it wasn't because of the late hour.

The light from the lamps made him visible, but it was the constant blur that made her feel agitated.

She'd never managed to do that.

It couldn't have been something special for him, could it? Noir's powers were consistent, always seemed to be the same thing—and it was absurd to think that he had two in such a little amount of time.

And yet, Adrien's face had never been all over the news with his appearance.

Pushing her bangs away from her face, Marinette made the sudden decision to cross the road, catching up to where he'd walked away.

Noir hadn't noticed her.

He had a backpack on, holding one strap of it, while his phone was in his other hand as he typed away, his walking pace slow and steady. There was no sign that he was paranoid about his surroundings, worried about anyone seeing him, and it was confirmed more than ever that he wasn't living as Adrien any more.

It made her wonder how he was earning money.

Surely, no one would give a job to Noir, not when he didn't have identification on him, would they? And would his fingerprints come up in the system with who he really was?

She didn't know how anything worked, and it just made her realise how naïve and lost she really was.

Marinette didn't understand a thing, and it had always been that way.

She jogged to catch up to him before walking by his wide, waiting for him to realise that she was there.

The resentment towards him had lessened, but when she looked at his face, it just resurfaced again. There was no soft smile that was meant for her, no visible dimples when he grinned widely, and she could barely tell his expression.

It was all in his voice when he was Noir.

It was a glance her way before he looked back down, and then his head was quickly snapping back up, footsteps coming to a stop abruptly.

Wasn't it strange that she caused him to have such a reaction?

“Marinette,” he started, sounding surprised. “I—what are you doing here?”

She pushed her damp hair away. “Running.”

He blinked. “...Okay.”

She worked up the courage to admit, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Me?” Noir repeated, even going as far as to point to his face with his hand that was holding his phone. “But it's—you didn't want to before.”

It wasn't her proudest moments, all those months ago in the cold laundromat. “I panicked,” she lamely explained. “It... it was a shock. I didn't mean to offend you.”

He ran a hand through his hair before leaving it to hover at the back of his neck. “You—” Noir started—because he wasn't Adrien any more, not really—before pausing. “You didn't tell anyone, did you?”

She bristled at that. “No.”

His shoulders slumped in relief, hand falling back down to his side. “That's—thank you. I almost expected it to be spread around.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, he seemed to realise what he'd said, frantically moving his hands. “No, I—I meant because of who I am? Not that you're untrustworthy. Well, kind of, but I didn't mean it in the offensive way, you know? I just... I _want_ to trust you.”

“I didn't tell anyone,” Marinette whispered. “Who would believe me? I don't even know your last name.”

“Thank you,” he said, and there was no doubting the sincerity in his words. “Thank you, Marinette—”

It caused her stomach to feel uncomfortable. “Don't,” she interrupted, staring straight at him. “Don't thank me.”

It took him a moment to say, “Okay.”

Now that he really was in front of her, she didn't know what she wanted to say. Unsure of whether it was about his life as Noir, or his time before that—

But the most pressing matter was, “Are you—is this why you disappeared?”

Noir adjusted his footing, seeming to be nervous. “Yes.”

Her throat felt tight. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, barely audible. “You... can't you see why?”

That was the big difference between them, then.

“No,” Marinette confessed.

Noir sounded confused as he replied, “What?”

Her mouth was dry.

She swallowed audibly before answering that with a blunt, “I liked you better before.”

Noir made a noise that definitely wasn't positive, taking a step away from her. His hand went to his pocket, touching where he'd put his phone, and all he could say was, “I—what?”

It wasn't very eloquent.

“What you're doing...” Marinette trailed off, pausing to try and find the right words. “Don't you—don't you want to be normal?”

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “Why would I want that?”

She really didn't get it.

“You don't have to.” It seemed she'd said it aloud, voicing her thoughts by accident. “I... I like who I am now, compared to before.”

She swallowed. “Are you even you any more?”

“Sure, on documentation,” he said. “But when I'm outside, why would I want to be? This—being Noir—is the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Her throat felt tight, making it hard to reply, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Noir insisted. “You don't have anything to apologise for. I admit, I was upset when you ran away, but I get it.”

But that wasn't what she'd been apologising for; rather, she felt sad for him, unable to fully understand his feelings on the matter, but there was no way that she could make him see that, was there?

When they parted ways, Marinette felt worse than when he'd jogged up to him. The answers hadn't been the ones that she'd wanted, but Noir was clearly happy towards the end that she was willing to talk to him at all.

Then, he asked for her number.

And, stupidly, she gave it to him. It was a regret of hers that she'd never gotten it in the last, so she wasn't going to pass up on that opportunity.

However, that meant that she woke up the following day to an early message from him.

It irked her when she saw the time.

Later, when he apologised if he'd woken her up at the wrong time, she told him that she didn't work at her previous job any more, and didn't need to wake up early for the train. And when he went on to enquire where she'd moved onto, Marinette ignored it and asked about him instead.

Noir replied that he had enough savings that he didn't have to work.

Their conversations were stilted, but it was easier when texting. Marinette didn't have to stare at his blurry face, didn't have to hear the voice that she'd associated with Adrien for so long, and it was because of that that she slowly started to reply more and more, not giving clear answers about her life.

She was private, after all.

Noir still remembered about Luka.

She asked him about his friends.

The small things were the same; his favourite drinks, what he liked to eat, and his choice in television shows were still matching up with hers, even if he was under a different identity. He was still so wholeheartedly Adrien while insisting he was someone else, that he didn't want to live the way that he had—but she didn't have much authority to decide that, did she?

Marinette had only seen glimpses of him on their train rides, had never seen him relaxing in his home, or known more about his life.

If anything, just the parts he was showing her were the same.

Noir was very vocal about missing their morning rides.

It took him saying that three times—all on separate occasions—for her to shyly reply that she did, too.

Looking back, that was probably the healthiest time of her life in the past decade. She'd had a job, had something to look forward to when getting up in the morning, and none of that had remained.

There was no real urge for her to go out and work.

If Luka wanted to, he wouldn't have had to work, if only he allowed her to take over the rent for the both of them. But composing was his passion, and he enjoyed the long hours and the accomplishments that came from it.

Slowly, it turned into her texting Noir while they were both watching the same show. The weather had gotten a bit warmer, but it was still chilly.

She conjured a blanket.

When Luka came through the door and saw it over her, he just took his shoes off, coming to sit beside her, and gestured for her to make it bigger for him.

And so, she did.

It was the small acceptances like that that made her happy.

-x-

She kept up the running.

Noir started to tell her properly about his days, including little titbits that she'd see on the news due to his mundane use of his powers, and as strange as it was, she got used to it.

Noir was treated like a celebrity more than anything else, meaning no privacy for him, so when he proposed meeting up, he asked whether she wanted to come over to his home.

Then, he quickly said that he lived with someone else, and that they'd be there, too.

It was weeks after they'd started talking that she accepted the offer, only because she wanted to see whether them getting along would translate in person, back how it used to be. Marinette couldn't deny that she was excited to see how he was at home, whether he'd be more open—

Her disappointment must've been visible when he opened the door and revealed his blurred face.

“Oh,” he said, no doubt that he'd caught on immediately. “I'd take it off, but people found out where I live a while ago, and I'm pretty sure they're still trying to get a picture.”

It was strange seeing him in person.

“It's okay,” she replied, not entirely sincere.

“I know it can be frustrating,” Noir offered as he ushered her inside, gesturing for her to take her shoes off with the others. “But I—”

It wasn't either of them that interrupted to correct him with, “Frustrating doesn't even describe it, man.”

Noir rolled his eyes, not turning to face the newcomer. “Yes, thank you. Ignore him, Marinette.”

Him saying that had the opposite effect, though. “Marinette, is it?”

The newcomer—the house-mate, surely—came up to her, smiling widely and towering above her at a similar height to Noir, and he didn't even flinch when Noir tried to push him aside, instead staying on the spot and looking straight at her.

“It's nice to finally meet you!” he exclaimed as Noir groaned. “I'm Nino, by the way. I doubt he told you that.”

Quietly, she replied, “He didn't.”

“Good friend, right?” Nino said, shaking his head in disapproval. “Come in, though. I'll shut the blinds and whatever so you can see his ugly face.”

“Nino—” Noir started to say.

Nino just turned and put a hand on his shoulder. “I got you, bro.”

And then, he wandered back into the house, walking away as quickly as he'd came.

Noir ran a hand through his hand. “I should probably apologise in advance for him. He's—Nino likes to embarrass me.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” she said.

The front door hadn't had a window in it, and when they walked through to the living room, Marinette noticed that all of the windows had heavy blinds that had been pulled down. It was clear that it was to keep the inside from being visible, and she had to wonder how long it took them to come up with the solution. Plus, whether he'd moved in as Adrien beforehand—but then he would've been on record with that name, wouldn't he?

She had no idea how he'd done.

Maybe the excuse was that Adrien was his room-mate, maybe no one had connected the dots—but it was harder and harder to try and think of them as two separate people. Their texts had made her start to like him more, but there was still the lingering resentment that was curling uncomfortably in her stomach.

Nino didn't care about Noir's celebrity treatment, that was clear within a few minutes.

Instead of wandering off and leaving her with Noir, Nino sat down with them in the living room, carrying most of the conversation with Noir at first, all while the blur was still visible on his face.

“You're giving me a headache,” Nino accused, leaning back and shooting his friend a dirty look. “She already knows, right? Stop putting it off.”

She hadn't been completely silent the whole time, but she wasn't all that comfortable with the two of them. Actually seeing Noir in person had made her feel awkward again, and while Nino was open and friendly, she found it hard to interact with him properly.

For the most part, she felt like she was just watching the two of them interact, sometimes chipping in with her own comments.

And that was fine.

That's how it usually was with others.

Noir turned his head to look at her, quiet for a moment. Then, he asked, “Do you—do you actually mind this?”

It didn't take her long for her to realise what he meant.

“I like Adrien more,” she replied, unsure whether she should've said it in past tense or not. “This—I feel awkward when you're like this.”

“Yeah, same,” Nino agreed, enthusiastically nodding his head. “It's so much better when you can see his stupid face, right? It's hard to tell if he's being sarcastic sometimes.”

Noir spluttered, “Hey!”

Nino waved a hand dismissively at him, instead leaning forward to address Marinette with, “He might not want to show you his super secret power, so are you fine with chilling with me for a bit? I can leave, if not.”

Her discomfort had been obvious, then. But Nino was someone that Noir obviously trusted, enough for his identity was revealed to him, and he seemed nice enough—

“It's okay,” she found herself saying. “I don't mind being with you.”

And as Nino waved his hand in a motion to usher Noir away to the next door, Noir didn't protest to it at all. He huffed out a laugh before standing up, promising to be back in a few minutes.

The door closing was loud.

Of all the things Nino could've said to start off their conversation, he unceremoniously announced, “He's still Adrien.”

She frowned. “He doesn't want to be.”

“Well,” Nino said, drawing out the vowel. “It's not really his choice who he is, is it? I—you know what I mean. Whatever stupid name he gives himself, he's still the same dumbass I grew up with.”

“That long?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “And I can assure you, he didn't have some weird powers back then, or an identity crisis that makes me just want to shake him.”

From what she was aware of, there wasn't anything that she had that would make her face unrecognisable to others. The shots that had been taken of her in the past had all been blurry due to the bad quality—from the technology back then—and not because of some additional power that she had.

She had no idea how he did it.

“He talked about you a lot.”

Startled, she looked at Nino in surprise. “He—he did?”

“You were his train buddy, right?” When she nodded in confirmation, he looked as pleased as he sounded as he replied, “Yeah, definitely you. He was pretty bummed when he couldn't go any more.”

That didn't make her feel any better about it, though.

It was ridiculous to try and think of him as a different person when he wandered back into the room, facial features visible. She could see the way his blond-coloured hair fell to his eyebrows, the way he looked frustrated as he pushed it away, and how creases appeared on his cheeks when he smiled widely.

And when she smiled right back at him, it was even harder to think of him as Noir.

He was still Adrien to her, then.

He wasn't the same—not the sweet guy that she'd met on the train, but he was still _him._ She may have hated what he'd done with his life, but it wasn't her decision to choose what he did, was it? There was no reason for her opinion to even matter to him.

But for him to invite her into his home, to introduce her to who she'd come to find out was his best friend, was a big deal.

Especially for being the first time he'd invited her over after only texting for a brief while.

The amount of trust he put in her was flattering.

When he ushered her into the kitchen to pick out a drink, Marinette quietly asked, “Why did you invite me over?”

Adrien continued to look in the fridge. “Why not?”

“I—this is a lot of trust you're showing me,” she pointed out, fiddling with her hands. “I just—I don't understand why you're doing it.”

“Nino suggested it,” he admitted, still not looking at her. “He's why I approached you in the first place—at the market, I mean. I was really surprised to see you there.”

He'd remembered her favourite coffee then.

There wasn't anyone out to get him, not when he hadn't pissed anyone off with what he deemed to be good deeds. If anything, all that associating with him in public would do was transfer some attention onto her, but only if they were seen multiple time. She probably would end up with her pictures on all the blogs that were dedicated to keeping track of his movements.

It was ridiculous to try and think of him as two different people after spending some time with his face visible.

It was her luck that the guy she'd liked would turn out to be such a hopeless idealist, wasn't it?

Nino called out to them, “Hurry up!”

Adrien's face showed his fondness for his friend. “Come on, you need to pick so we can get back to the _baby_.”

When she left, Nino's number was added to her contact list.

-x-

She avoided calling him Noir any more.

At least, when referring to him in her head, that was. Adrien started to text her more, asking whether she wanted to hang out whenever she was free—to which she hadn't quite told him that she didn't have a job, let alone any hobbies that kept her busy for long—and it meant that she couldn't keep secrets from Luka.

So, she told him she'd befriended Noir.

Luka had just laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

“No, really,” she insisted, a bit frazzled that he'd really given the reaction that she'd expected. “He—we're kind of friends, for real.”

Raising his eyebrows, he took a sip of his drink.

She changed the name on her contact list to Noir, just for safety reasons. It wasn't fair for her to give out his first name without his permission, not even to her best friend.

It wasn't enough to convince him, however.

Adrien was kind enough to send a picture of him which included his blurry face.

And when that didn't work, he called her on an application where they'd be able to use their cameras. Instead of Adrien being greeted by her face, he saw Luka and went, “ _What_?”

Luka turned to look at her accusingly.

“I told you,” she mumbled.

She hung up.

“That was rude,” he scolded.

Marinette snorted. “It's not like he'd input anything useful into our conversation.”

“Aren't you supposed to be friends?” Luka asked.

“Kind of,” she insisted. “And I also met his best friend, so we're even. They invited me for dinner this weekend, but I—I just wanted you to know where I was, if you come home before I'm back.”

He squinted. “Were you thinking of not telling me?”

She shrugged. “You don't need to know my every move.”

Slowly, Luka questioned, “Does he know?”

“My every move?” she purposely replied, playing dumb. “No, that's weird.”

“Mari—”

Her shoulders slumped. “Why would I tell him?”

Luka didn't say anything to that.

He didn't have to.

There were only a handful of people that knew about her—and most of them were dead. Luka was the surviving one with the knowledge, and she was going to keep it that way.

Getting to know Adrien again didn't change anything in her plans for her life; she was going to take it easy, not stressing herself out for no reason, and she definitely wasn't going to reveal her secrets to anyone that she didn't have to. As flattering as the trust Adrien had put in her was—she thought it was idiotic of him to do it in the first place.

If he was going to use his special power to hide his identity, why throw it away and make himself known just because she didn't want to talk to him as Noir?

It turned out there was someone else that was involved in keeping Adrien a secret.

They were just as exasperated with him as Nino.

Alya, as she introduced herself as, came to sit down beside Marinette immediately, taking her hands into hers and dramatically said, “I'm so sorry this happened to you.”

Then, Alya ducked as a pillow was thrown at her.

Marinette jumped in surprise while laughter came from everyone else, and it took her a while to feel comfortable with everyone. Nino was as friendly as the previous time, and with his girlfriend being boisterous and a strong personality herself, Marinette was more than happy to just sip at her drink and listen to the three of them bicker.

Alya, with her red-coloured hair that she had cut to her shoulders, was very vocal about her opinions on Adrien's turn in life.

“We can't all be rich boys and walk our white asses around the city doing nothing all day,” she retorted, pushing her spectacles up to the bridge of her nose with one finger. “Why don't you add a cape to your ridiculous outfit while you're at it?”

Nino almost choked on his drink.

“Hey—” Adrien started, but he cut himself off to jut his lower lip out far more than it should've, looking purposely dejected.

“You're not even a superhero, dude,” Nino said, patting Adrien's shoulder with a bit too much force. “I mean, the most good you've done is disintegrate some mugger's shoelaces, but that's never going to happen again, is it?”

Adrien crossed his arms. “It could.”

“Sure, honey,” Alya assured him, sounding like she was trying hard not to laugh. “Why don't you go back to your lame job instead? You wasting away your life because of your wealth is honestly disgusting.”

“That's it,” Adrien stating, brushing off Nino's hand and standing up, wandering over and plopping himself between Alya and Marinette on the sofa. “Marinette's my only friend now. I don't want either of you two any more.”

Nino grinned, showing his teeth. “Without us, there's no alibi for poor old Adrien—”

“You're rude,” he retorted, going as far as to point at Nino as he said it. “Adrien's just a recluse, okay? He's shy.”

Marinette turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you talking about yourself in third person?”

Colour flooded his cheeks. “I—forget that happened.”

Nino positively cackled.

“Idiot,” Alya called out.

Adrien groaned, putting his head in his hands. “It's a habit, okay?”

“Okay,” Marinette said, not quite getting it. “Sure.”

That just made the others laugh more.

It was—it was really nice to be with them, after a while. When Marinette loosened up, laughed more freely at the jokes as she was freely included in them, it was a wonderful experience to be so thoroughly welcome at such short notice. Alya latched onto her within minutes of her arrival, even sitting beside her at the dining table when their food was finished, but Marinette wasn't upset about it at all.

She was happy with the extra number added to her phone.

It was sweet of them, really. All three of them were so trusting, so friendly and welcoming anyone that came near—and for it to be her made her chest feel warm.

It was the most social interaction she'd had for a while.

Luka encouraged her to see them more.

Although Luka was busy a lot of the time, they still did find things to do together, so it wasn't as though she was on her own forever. She understood that he was busy, that he had a passion, and she was more than happy to spend time alone—it was just with the recent inclusion of Adrien's name popping up on her phone (or, rather; Noir's), along with Alya and Noir occasionally, it was more than she'd had in years.

It was a little exhausting.

She wasn't good at replying to messages immediately.

No one complained about that, though.

When Alya invited her out to get lunch, with just the two of them, Marinette had to tentatively respond that she already had plans with Luka.

And that was how the next time she was invited over to Adrien and Nino's home for dinner, Luka was hovering behind her, his hands awkward jammed into his pockets.

“So, this...” Luka trailed off. “This is happening, isn't it?”

It was only the third time she'd gone over to the house, but it wasn't the third invitation. The three of them had been welcoming, with Adrien asking whether she was free and wanted to meet up, but for a while, she hadn't wanted to go back over.

Seeing Adrien face-to-face had been a nice reminder of what their friendship had been, but when she'd turned the news on the following day to see his blurred face, her stomach had twisted uncomfortably.

She avoided seeing him after that, but it wasn't as though he _knew_ that. Adrien was under the impression that she had a busy schedule.

He didn't need to know any different.

“Don't be weird,” she told him.

Luka scoffed. “Me? Weird?”

She looked at him and slowly raised her eyebrows.

Luka threw his hands up in exasperation. “You have no right to judge me—”

“They're nice,” she assured him, reaching up and tucking some stray bits of hair behind her ear. “I'm sure Noir—Noir's told them everything I've said about you, so don't be surprised if they're friendly.”

He grimaced. “What have you told them?”

“Oh, everything,” she teased. “They're ready to mock you, don't worry.”

For the short distance they had to walk, Luka's shoulders relaxed. He was joking with her, keeping up their ridiculous conversation without a nervous silence, and Marinette had to admire how open he was to meeting someone that the city adored. Luka had known her stance towards Noir for as long as he'd been around, and for her to change her mind about him must've been a surprise.

But sitting across from Noir at a dining table was another matter, wasn't it?

Alya was the one to open the door.

She'd straightened her hair that day, had on a pair of bright-coloured slippers, and her smile was as wide as the first time Marinette had met her.

“Hey, come,” Alya greeted them. “Nino actually cleaned the floor today, so if you don't take your shoes off, I think he's going to cry.”

While Luka was shy, he didn't clam up when people spoke to him. He was awkward with jokes for a bit, sure, but when Nino wandered over to say hi and the first words from his lips were about Luka's song, it was very obvious when Luka perked up and looked visibly happier from the mention of it.

That was always one way to make him relax.

Adrien didn't leave his persona of Noir.

She got it, really, but it was still—it was _strange_ to be sat beside him, to see him in a loose t-shirt and socks, no shoes in sight, and see his blurry face as he raved about how how idiotic his friends were. It wasn't what the news or the blogs she followed saw; rather, it was a more open and charismatic side of him, one that wouldn't be shown to many others.

But it was clear he treasured his anonymity of Noir more than being Adrien. He went out to buy groceries as Noir, to buy clothes, and do all the normal everyday things.

It reminded her of Alya's comment about Adrien's wealth.

It was safe to assume he didn't have a job, not one that involved him being Noir. No one would hire him when he didn't actually have identification like that, she knew that.

Luka fit in perfectly, and it made her so happy to see.

When he met Noir, he didn't gawk, didn't ask him questions about his powers; no, instead, Luka just looked at him for an awkward moment before thanking him for the coffee.

Marinette had choked out a laugh.

That was a bit hard to explain.

“You didn't drink it?” Alya questioned, thoroughly amused.

Marinette sunk back into the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I—”

“No,” Luka interrupted her, leaning over to rest his head on top of hers, but their height difference made it so he was almost draping himself across her dramatically. “Stranger danger and all that, you know?”

Nino laughed. “But you're fine, yeah?”

“I'm a guinea pig for her,” Luka confirmed, grinning. “I could tell you so many things, but I'm not here to embarrass her this time.”

“This time,” Nino repeated. “Well, you're in luck. Want to hear stupid things about our resident idiot here?”

Adrien cleared his throat pointedly. “You live here, too.”

“I'm the smart one,” Nino insisted. “And I have proof.”

Underneath his breath, Adrien muttered, “Yeah, right.”

In Nino's case, proof meant childhood stories of Adrien being terribly gullible and tricked into doing things when they were little. But, of course, instead of saying his name, Nino said Noir the entire time, and it came with only a few slip ups.

It was apparent what letter Adrien's real name began with, but Luka didn't ask any questions.

The transition from becoming friends to having Luka blend in with them seamlessly was easy, almost too easy. After they'd left, Marinette had gotten a few texts from Adrien saying that she was welcome to bring Luka whenever she wanted, had had such the same messages from Alya and Nino, and even Luka had said that they'd seemed nice.

“You're okay with him?” Luke questioned.

There was no need for him to clarify who he meant.

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

It was easy to admit that she had been petty—still was. For someone to be like her, but so different at the same time, was hard to accept, and there was no doubt that she'd disliked him because of that. It was a natural reaction, wasn't it?

It was what made her human.

Even if she hated that part of her.

Because Adrien—Adrien thought that his powers were the best part of his life, that much was obvious. There was no staggering weight on his shoulders that ruined his everyday life; no, rather, he enjoyed most parts as Noir, pushing Adrien aside instead, and it was only at home with the windows blocked that he let his transformation fall.

At least, she had to assume it was a transformation. That had to be a thing, hadn't it?

It was a mystery.

-x-

She felt sluggish.

When walking down the stairs from her apartment, Marinette had tripped, dropping her phone down the flight of steps, and there was no mistaking the shattered bits of glass that were waiting for her at the bottom. She'd cursed under her breath, stuffing the broken device in the pocket of her jeans, trying her best to brush aside the glass before going on her way.

After expressing interest in a film that had just come out, Adrien had suggested that they go and see it together.

She didn't see a reason to say no.

It would be the first time she'd be side-by-side with Noir in public, but since finding out who Alya and Nino were, she'd realised that she'd seen them in a few pictures online, but nothing had ever come out of it. Sure, reporters had tried to talk to them to get some more information, but they never told them much.

Adrien had his hood up when she met him outside the theatre.

“Hi,” he greeted, a bit higher-pitched than usual.

She smiled back. “Hey.”

The hood didn't do much to hide his identity. At that point, she supposed it was more of a fashion statement than one for privacy, especially since his hair still stuck out from the front of it, and he didn't try to hide his face when people looked at him.

He fell into step beside her, visibly excited to get inside. “Still not letting me buy your ticket?”

“No,” she confirmed, reaching into her pocket. Then, she lifted up her phone for him to see as she said, “I ordered online already. There's no way I'm letting you pay for me.”

He sniffed. “So mean.”

No matter how wealthy he was teased for being—or whether there was actual truth behind that or not—Marinette wasn't picky with money, not when it meant so little to her in the long run. Unless she splurged unnecessarily, she doubted that she'd run out any time soon.

She got her ticket without a problem, but when she put her phone back into her pocket, one of the shards of glass that had fallen off caught her off-guard. Marinette jumped, taking her hand back out instantly, and although there wasn't any blood, it had dug into the underneath her nail painfully, causing her to wince.

She couldn't magic it away, sadly.

A few looks were sent their way, but no one came up to talk to Adrien. She was surprised by that, actually, but it was very obvious that the couple in front of them had noticed who he was, because they were constantly turning about in their seats to look back at him, then turning away as soon as he noticed.

Adrien didn't seem bothered by it.

He was too immersed in the film to care about it, it seemed.

“That was so _good_ ,” he gushed when they walked outside.

She wholly agreed with him.

But when they were set to part, with Adrien offering to drive her back home, he didn't get out of the car immediately when stopping outside of her building. Instead, he drummed his fingertips on the wheel, taking a few looks in her direction, before he asked, “Do you want to—I mean, would you like to spend some more time together?”

That was a surprise to hear.

“I get it, if you don't,” he quickly said, reaching up and running a hand through his hair, knocking the hood down in the process. “But I... it's nice with it being just us. I've missed this.”

She grinned. “You're not going to suggest we go on a train, are you?”

“Not unless you want to,” he replied, and despite the blur, she could tell that he was smiling, too. “I'm up for pretty much anything.”

Without thinking it through properly, she suggested, “Do you want to come up?”

Adrien faltered. “To—to your place?”

“Yes?” It came out sounding like a question. “It's... I know it's not private enough for you to be—you know, _you—_ but people won't be staring at us curiously, at least.”

There was barely a pause before he replied, “Okay.”

It wasn't that she was nervous about showing him her home. The apartment she shared with Luka wasn't luxurious, sure, but everything they owned was in good condition because of her, and it had personal touches scattered throughout, making it look lived in.

They had been living there for four years at that point, after all.

“Luka's at work,” she explained as she put the key into the door. “But he'll probably be home soon, unless he really wants to stay later. It's kind of a guessing game with him.”

Adrien hummed. “He really loves what he does, doesn't he?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, smile curling on her lips. “He's been pretty much obsessed with it since we were kids. I could tell you all sorts of stories, but I don't want to bore you.”

After asking whether he should take his shoes off, Adrien remarked, “Young Marinette sounds interesting.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Let's not talk about her.”

“Who's talking in third person now?”

“You're worse than me,” she retorted.

He shrugged his shoulders.

Having Adrien in her home wasn't as intimidating as she thought it would be. His facial features were blurry, his body language was relaxed, and having him sit beside her on her sofa was something she hadn't thought she'd ever have. He was so open with her, laughing freely and talking about anything that popped into his mind, and she felt the same with him.

She didn't think she'd have that again, not after he'd disappeared from their daily commute.

Still, she couldn't help but ask, “Don't you—do you miss before? Being like everyone else?”

Adrien took a moment to reply, “Sure, I do, but I... what I gained instead is something amazing, isn't it?”

There was so much she could've asked, but she chose to dwell on, “How does it work?”

“My powers?” Adrien questioned. And then when she nodded, he leaned back against the sofa, putting one foot on the edge, knee in the air and making him seem far more relaxed than his answer was. “I... it's hard to really understand, but if I think something, it just—it _happens_ , you know? It's instantaneous, even without me actually doing anything.”

There were so many similarities between them.

“You control it with your thoughts?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, continuing to face her, not shying away and refusing to look at her despite his hidden expression. “Like, I don't really get it still? There's limitations to what I can do, or how much all at once, and it's... I like to joke that I need to recharge, but it really is true.”

She swallowed. “Do you have to eat more?”

“No, no,” he said with a laugh. “Nothing like that. I'm—I'm still the same as everyone else in that regard; no super strength, no weird senses that warn me about stuff. I can just destroy a car in a blink of an eye if I visualise it in my head, that's all.”

The response was just so funny to her, she couldn't help but crack a smile. “That's all?” she echoed, voice wobbling from her amusement. “That's not—no one can do _that_.”

“Other than me,” he agreed, lifting his other leg up, wrapping his arms around his knees and looking more vulnerable than ever. “I think. I tried looking it up, but I haven't... I haven't found anyone else that's like me; or, well, out like I am, I guess. Maybe there's some in hiding? I'd like to think that's the case, so I'm not so—so alone.”

Her nails curled into her jeans.

“Don't you—” Adrien started before cutting himself off, and she could see it as he swallowed. “Do you think she was the same as me?”

The past tense didn't escape her.

There had been theories, of course. It had been close to ten years since her last appearance that had been caught, and the arrival of Noir months ago had caused the drama to start back up again. Before Noir had proved that his powers were real after a short amount of time, the few that had believed that she was a hoax had settled down, instead reviving the outcry of questions about where she was.

Her throat felt thick as she asked, “She?”

“You know,” he started, his gaze turning to his knees. “Coccinelle.”

Her stomach twisted tightly.

It was—it was such a ridiculous name, one that she'd never liked the sound of, but Noir wasn't much better. Adrien seemed to like the one he'd been awarded, however, and tended to respond to it when it was called out.

The difference was that she'd never acknowledged it.

It was ridiculous to.

She was Marinette, and that wasn't changing.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

Adrien ran a hand through his hair, and she had to assume his eyes were closed from the blur. “I just—I wish I could ask her, to try and understand.”

She felt sick.

“I don't get it,” he quietly admitted. “I... I never thought I'd be able to do the things that she could do. But having this—this _power_ , it makes me resent her for disappearing.”

Her voice sounded foreign to her ears as she responded, “She wasn't ever really there.”

And she wasn't.

She hadn't been.

It wasn't a lie.

“Why _not_?” Adrien replied, suddenly louder and more passionate than he'd been for a while. Able to hear the frustration in his voice, he sat upright, feet on the floor, and turned towards her as he heatedly continued to say, “If she—if she could help, why wouldn't she?”

Her eyes felt itchy. “It's not like you really do much, is it?”

Rather than be offended, his shoulders sagged as a sigh escaped him. “What _can_ I do?” he questioned, but it sounded more rhetorical than anything. “It's not like I can be some handy demolition man or something. My powers pale so much in comparison to hers.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, Marinette voiced her opinion gently. “Have you... considered that there's not anything you can do?”

He sounded close to whining when he replied, “But I want to.”

She laughed.

“Really,” he insisted, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “What's the point of having powers if I can't actually do _anything_? That, like, defeats the purpose of it.”

“Not really,” she argued softly. “You weren't given an instruction manual, right?”

He muttered, “I wish.”

She wished, too.

They didn't bring it up again, but Marinette understood what he'd meant. She'd seen countless opinions over the years, strangers whining that she'd never done what they'd wanted her to do, but it hadn't never come from someone she considered close to her.

It stung.

When Luka had found out, he'd been fifteen, tall with limbs that were too long and unfamiliar to him, and she'd accidentally changed the pattern of his socks while he was wearing them.

There had been some confusion at first,but he'd never asked her for the impossible; he was willing to learn as much as she wanted to tell, able to calm her down when she panicked, and was always there to be a friend when she needed him.

Luka had supported her without any question.

But to the others—the ones that hadn't seen the frustration and confusion from the sudden powers—they all held unrealistic expectations.

For if she could create what she wanted, why didn't she fix the problems of the world?

It was ridiculous.

She couldn't even fix her own problems.

For Adrien to be in the category of people that had expected more of her hurt, but wasn't that hypocritical of her? She was as disappointed in his life to show his powers in such mundane ways in his day-to-day life as he was in her disappearance.

He just didn't know it.

-x-

Coccinelle started to pop up more.

The name, that was.

There hadn't been an actual legitimate sighting of her since she was fourteen, but many had tried to fake it. Marinette had been endlessly frustrated when she saw viral video clips that went around claiming that it was her reappearing, or the television shows that referenced her out of nowhere, or created their own ideal of what she should've been, all the while advertising that they'd fact-checked the powers with officials to lure people in.

It was never true.

For one, she couldn't create food.

That had been one of the first things she'd tried.

Life was another matter all together. Her powers weren't clear, but she'd learned the limitations to them harshly.

“I'm not coming today.”

Alya asked, “Oh, you're busy?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed quietly. “I-I just can't today.”

There wasn't any more questions after that.

The picture of her parents on her bedside table remained, but she looked at it more than usual that day. The only difference to her usual routine was that she stayed inside, dressed in pyjamas and ignoring her phone for the most part, mostly watching whatever trashy television show popped up, not really paying attention.

She wasn't planning to run that day.

She'd gotten faster at that, eventually. It had been a couple of months, but the fact that she was still sticking with it was something to be proud of—along with her slowly building up muscle, rather than just being skinny.

When there was a knock at the door, it wasn't because Luka had forgotten his keys.

Instead, she was greeted by Adrien's blurred face as he had one hand raised in an awkward wave, while his other was stuffed into his pocket.

Baffled, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“You didn't come today,” he replied, shifting his weight to his other foot. “So, I... I texted you, and you didn't respond to that.”

It had been on silent all day.

“Oh.”

He cleared his throat. “Is it—I mean, am I being annoying by being here?”

“No,” Marinette blurted, her grip on the door fumbling a little. “I just—it's a surprise, that's all. I wasn't expecting you to come here.”

“I'm being annoying,” he concluded, sucking in an audible breath as he took a step back. “That wasn't my intention, I swear. I... I thought it would be a good idea to come and see you, that's all.”

And it did mean something. She couldn't think of many people that would come and check on her after she'd cancelled plans and ignored their messages—

Other than Luka, there wasn't actually anyone that came to mind.

She'd known that Adrien considered her a friend, but for him to show so much concern for her was touching, truly. While she'd doubted it at times, wondering whether why he would've missed her in the first place, him turning up at her doorstep was another confirmation that he _cared_.

She swallowed. “Would you like to come in?”

Adrien stayed still. “Are you sure I'm not intruding?”

“Never,” she sincerely replied.

He didn't need to be told to take his shoes off.

Adrien didn't say anything about her wrinkled pyjamas, the fact that she hadn't washed her hair that day, and certainly not the dirty glasses that were on the coffee table, waiting to be cleared away. Instead, he accepted the offer to join her in the kitchen to choose a drink, trailing after her without making any comments on how she hadn't been taking care of herself or her surroundings.

She appreciated it.

“So,” he started once he had a mug in his hands, sitting across from her at the tiny dining table in her kitchen. It was nothing compared to his and Nino's, but he looked just as comfortable there. “Want to hear about my woes?”

She snorted. “Woes?”

“Shut up, it's a perfectly good word,” he defended, not at all offended. “Do you want to hear all about my dilemma or not, Marinette?”

With a smile, she said, “Sure, amuse me with your suffering.”

“I will, thanks.” He grinned right back. “So, first of all, I thought it would be a good idea to go and get my picture taken for my passport. Better to have it professionally done, right? But I panicked and accidentally destroyed some guy's headphones because his music was annoying me.”

The image made her try to choke back laughter. “You— _what_?”

“It's hard to control!” Adrien explained, moving his hands as he spoke. “It's, like, not even intentional at times, okay? Then, while people were looking around, I had to try and pretend I had no idea what happened, all the while sweating from nerves.”

“Sweating,” she repeated.

He gestured to his very animated hands. “They give away my lies. The clamminess can't be hidden.”

She beamed. “I'll be sure to remember that, then.”

“You'll have to hold my hand first,” Adrien shot back. “To know, I mean. It—I don't think they'll be all shiny and sweaty enough for you to see from a distance.”

There was a brief silence.

Then, Adrien put his face in his hands as he announced, “I'm going to stop talking now.”

Marinette's shoulders shook with laughter.

“Who am I kidding?” he said, sitting upright in a swift movement. “I've probably done worse by now. My rambling is nothing to you.”

Shyly, she replied, “You're never nothing to me.”

That seemed to catch him off-guard. “I—okay,” he stuttered, surprise showing in his voice. “That's—that's great to hear, yeah.”

The fondness she was feeling towards him was growing. It was still strange to see his blurred face, but to know that he was Adrien underneath it all—the the person she'd thought she disliked—made it easier to look at him. She still didn't agree with all of his decisions, but she wasn't the one in control of his life.

“Is it hard?” Marinette questioned. “Not having a job?”

With his elbow on the table, chin resting in his open palm, he hummed in contemplation. “Not really? My parents are pretty loaded, so I can live freely for a bit. Chasing my dream and all that, you know?”

There was a teasing lilt to her voice as she enquired, “And your dream is to do nothing?”

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, nodding his head happily. “It's training for my goal of being someone's trophy husband. I'm sure I'll get there eventually.”

“Drat,” she said. “There goes my plan of marrying you.”

Adrien laughed. “You can't afford my expensive tastes.”

“Clearly,” she deadpanned. “I can tell from your fashion taste.”

“Hey, now,” he replied, haughtily raising his head up. “It's not my fault you can't understand good taste.”

She tilted her head to the side and squinted at him. “You've influenced children to essentially wear sportswear.”

Without hesitation, he stated, “Yeah, so they'll be healthy.”

“To try and destroy things with their mind, more like,” Marinette muttered.

Talking to him was uplifting, that was a good way to put it. Adrien seemed to ooze positive energy, and when she was actually able to see his smile—dimples and all—it was even better. She felt happy when she was with him, comfortable and content, and even with just the two of them sitting at her tiny dining table while she was in her dirty pyjamas was making her feel better than she had been all day.

Going out had seemed like such a chore in the morning.

“Thank you,” she quietly said, staring down at her hands that were holding onto her mug. “For coming over.”

Adrien's voice was just as soft as he answered with, “Anything for you.”

And if she said that didn't make her feel warm inside, she would've been lying.

Later, when they'd just laughed about a stupid joke that she really shouldn't have found annoying, Marinette blurted out, “I don't have a job.”

Adrien paused. “What?”

“I quit,” she said. “Back when you—when you stopped showing up. I mean, not _because_ of that, but it was around that time? It just... I didn't enjoy it any more, and it was just making me miserable.”

He slowly replied, “That was—that was, like, eight months ago.”

She shifted in her seat. “Yeah.”

Adrien slowly asked, “Are you... okay?”

That was a loaded question, but there was only so much she wanted to tell him—or that she was even able to with the amount that he knew about her.

“Financially, sure,” Marinette answered with a shrug, taking a sip of her cold drink. “I wouldn't say I'm a spoiled child like you—my parents just left a lot to me in their will, that's all.”

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat as he sat upright. “I—I'm sorry to hear that?”

It came out sounding like a question.

“Fuck, wait,” Adrien quickly said, shaking his head. “I know that's not what you want to hear, but I panicked—”

“It's okay,” she assured him, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. “If it was recent, I probably would've imagined punching you.”

He cleared his throat. “That's not very reassuring at all.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, rich boy,” she couldn't resist replying.

“ _Marinette_!”

She laughed a lot the whole time he was there.

It was a continuous thing. Adrien just—he made her so very happy, and the feeling only got stronger the better she got to know him. Adrien sent her ridiculous pictures of him on the street, sometimes his dumb blurry smile while posing beside a street sign to show where he was, and made sure to tell her the highlights of his days, trying to make it seem like he was doing something with his life.

And he was—it just wasn't what everyone else could.

Although he didn't like talking to reporters, or those that just wanted to take a video of him for attention, he did enjoy stopping to chat to curious onlookers, or even child that screamed out his name and wanted to ask him innocent questions.

It was because of that that a clip of him making a paper aeroplane and then destroying it mid-air went viral.

It was so ridiculous, but his laughter in the video along with the children he was amusing was worth it.

He wasn't fighting supervillains, barely ever ran into criminals, but he was regarded as something positive because of the little things that he did. From putting smiles on faces, just appearing and proving that his powers weren't fake, and updating his social media accounts with shout-outs for the local stores that were kind to him—all of it was genuine.

It was why he was liked so much, she'd started to understand that.

He made her want to be a better person.

Marinette was selfish.

Although he looked at her with such fondness when she was actually able to see his face, and his kind words were heartfelt and made her feel so-very-welcome, she knew that he was still disappointed with one part of her.

And that was a large part, wasn't it?

They were at his when Coccinelle was brought up.

“Do you think she hates this?”

It was a question out of nowhere.

Marinette hadn't tried to hate her dislike of Coccinelle-inspired characters that popped in up recent media. They didn't outright name them after the ridiculous nickname she'd been given, but they were close enough to make it obvious when it was compared with their powers.

“Yes,” she said, looking at the screen instead of him. “It's—she never gave permission for this, did she? And it was clear she didn't like the attention either.”

Adrien hummed. “True.”

As they were at his, he'd stopped blurring his face after making sure the windows were covered. It seemed like such a hassle to do so, but he'd done it before she'd even said that he didn't have to; she'd walked through the door, and as soon as it was shut behind, he scurried off to his bedroom and came back smiling, his eyes bright and visible.

“I think the ones named after me are so funny,” he mused. “They're just—they never quite get it right, but it's still amusing for them to try, you know?”

She turned to him and squinted. “You've only been in comics.”

“Yeah, but they still count,” he responded, nodding. “Right?”

“Right,” she agreed.

He leaned back against the sofa. “How bad do you think it'll be if I said fuck it and didn't bother hiding that it's me?”

“I don't know,” she replied honestly. “You can't really predict how people will react. The question is whether you want to risk being bothered all the time because of it.”

Adrien wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, no.”

“But you go out as Noir all the time,” she pointed out.

“That's different,” he explained with a wave of his hand. “That's—it's out of choice? With my face out there, it would be just... annoying. Really, really annoying.”

That was something she could understand. “How long until you have to get a job, do you think?”

“Until I disgrace my family and get cut off,” he said with a laugh. “They don't even live in this country any more, so I doubt that'll ever happen. But I should probably stop fucking around and actually do something with my life sometime.”

She hummed. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” Adrien replied, grinning. “Why?”

After some deliberation, she revealed, “I'm twenty-six next week.”

Adrien sat up straight. “ _Really_?”

Marinette nodded.

“Were you even planning to tell me?” Adrien complained, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “This isn't enough time to get something good enough for you—”

“I don't want anything,” she interrupted. “Really. I'm just telling you because I'm going to be twenty-six and jobless, still. I wanted to know whether you're as bad as me or not.”

He sniffed. “I'm not bad.”

“I'm sure.”

“ _Rude_ ,” he retorted, reaching out and flicking her arm lightly. “For your information, I'm already twenty-six, so you're the young one here. I'll teach you all about being a bum.”

She grinned. “You do have a nice one.”

“Marinette!” Adrien exclaimed, scandalised. “You can't just say things like that.”

“If you don't believe me, I could find countless blogs dedicated to it in a matter of seconds,” she teased, going as far as to reach for her phone in her pocket.

“Don't you dare,” he threatened.

She got her phone out.

There was a bit of a squabble.

They were both laughing as he tried to bat her phone out of her hands, Adrien going as far as to almost press his chest against her as he tried to use his height to his advantage, but she used her feet to push him away, causing him to fall on top of her.

Her phone clattered to the floor.

His elbow was digging into her side, the entire position was uncomfortable, but Adrien had steadied and lifted himself up a little so they could look each other in the eyes.

His eyelashes had blond on the ends.

Slowly, a smile spread across his lips, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners. Ever-so-fondly, he remarked, “You're a disaster.”

“ _Me_?” Marinette exclaimed. “You're the one on top of me right now.”

As if to further her point, she lifted her knee a little to poke into his side, and he just laughed.

“Have you thought that this is where I want to be?” he replied, raising his eyebrows.

“You should ask permission first.”

“You're right,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Very, very right, but I need to work up the confidence for that.”

She laughed. “Isn't me not pushing you away confidence enough?”

“My,” he started, smiling so widely. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're flirting with me right now.”

Marinette couldn't help but ask, “Only right now?”

“Maybe a little bit before that, too,” he relented. “But I'm not very observant, so I can't tell if you've done it any more than that.”

There was just something about him that made her feel so—so _comfortable_. There was no sweaty hands from nerves, the pounding of her heart wasn't from her worrying that she was going to make a fool of herself, and she knew that he didn't look at her with any less fondness when she was in wrinkled pyjamas and hadn't washed her hair.

She wetted her lips. “Would it be a problem if I have been?”

It didn't escape her notice that his gaze and flickered to her mouth when she'd done that.

“Maybe,” he said, drawing out the first vowel. “Why don't you tell me so we can find out?”

Marinette reached out and pressed the tip of her finger to his nose. “No.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her finger, grinning the whole time. “No?”

It was more intimate and closer than she'd ever thought that she'd be with him, but it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest. She didn't feel intimidated from their closeness, pressured into something she didn't want; rather, she was happy and comfortable, not at all embarrassed from the sudden shift in their conversation.

It wasn't just flirtatious remarks that they used to tease each other with.

Boldly, she questioned, “Can I ask you on a date instead?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Adrien quickly replied, a bit louder than was necessary. He cleared his throat before correcting himself with, “I mean—yes, of course. Great. I'd like that.”

She snickered. “Great.”

“ _Great_ ,” he confirmed.

He was still on top of her.

Marinette shifted beneath him. “Would you—”

Adrien got the message immediately, looking a bit flustered as he sat up, sitting on the other end as he had been before, but he was close enough that their thighs were touching when she was upright.

Marinette didn't shy away from him.

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, pleased when he didn't tense from her movements.

Then, her eyes caught sight of her phone that had fallen.

She really didn't need to turn it over to know that it had probably shattered again. It wouldn't be as bad as when it had fallen down the stairs, but it had hit the side of his coffee table on the way down, so there had to be _some_ damage to it.

The time was as good as ever, wasn't it?

“About—” Marinette started before cutting herself off, reaching up and pushing her hair behind her ear. “There's something I haven't exactly been honest about—but it's not like you _asked_ about it specifically.”

Adrien's expression was curious. “Okay?”

Collecting her phone from the floor, she was correct in thinking that something had happened. There was a crack down the middle of the screen, not bad enough to make it stop working, but it was a nuisance.

He sucked in a breath. “I'm so sorry—”

“Don't be,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “That's not—I'm not trying to get you to apologise for this. It happens a lot, honestly.”

He looked uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“It's fine,” she insisted, brushing off a few hairs that had fallen on the screen. “It saves me having to break something else, so it's fine.”

“What?”

It wasn't as though she _needed_ something to be broken, but it would be easier for him to digest if he saw something broken first, wouldn't it?

That was her trail of thought.

“Be open-minded,” she requested.

He blinked. “Okay?”

There was no flashy hand movements, no sparkles, no bright flash of light as it happened; rather, it was broken one moment, and the next, in the time it took to blink, it was completely fixed, back to how she pictured it to be.

When he didn't say anything, she cautiously looked towards him.

Adrien was just staring at her phone.

“Adrien?” she called out, hating that her voice sounded uncertain.

Then, as if he'd finished processing what had happened, his eyes widened as his gaze darted between her and the device, mouth open but no words coming out.

She slowly raised a hand up and waved, the movement awkward and not at all natural. “Hello?”

“Are you—” Adrien started, cutting himself off with a frustrated noise. Then, he quickly reached up and rubbed at his eye with more force than necessary, his voice cracked as he asked, “Are you like me?”

It made her throat feel tight.

“You're like me, more like,” she quietly replied.

His response was barely audible. “How?”

“I don't know,” Marinette replied, honest. “I just—I woke up like this, one day.”

“One day?” he asked.

“A long time ago,” she answered, flexing her fingers on one hand. “It's... I've been like this a long time, but I've never considered it as something good, not like you.”

She didn't have to look up to see that he was trying to make a joke as he enquired, “You think I'm good?”

“You know what I mean,” she answered, pulling her knees up to her chest, no longer sitting so openly. “I've hid it for so long, but you—you want it to be everything.”

Adrien sounded so lost as he asked, “But why?”

She couldn't look him in the eyes. “Why not?”

“But you—” Adrien paused. “You... you can create, can't you?”

“Most things,” she tactfully replied. “But, like you, I've got a pretty lame power supply. I can't do anything flashy—but I can put some money in my bank account, if I'm low.”

He quietly said, “I thought your parents left you money.”

“Oh, they have,” she confirmed. “In a different account. I haven't touched it.”

There was silence between them. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her head, loud and demanding, and she didn't dare look at him. For all the fondness that he had for her, she knew that his feelings towards her past weren't the same, not when their lives had taken such drastic different ways from the same event happening.

He may have been an adult when it hit, but she'd been a lost child.

“Please,” he started, sounding breathless. “Are you—”

It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was asking.

Her grip on her legs became tighter. “Yes.”

There was a lot of things she was expecting; maybe for him to vent his disappointment again, proclaim that he didn't want to know that, or, possibly, say that he didn't believe her.

But of all the possible outcomes, she didn't expect him to gently wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Marinette's head was pressed between his neck and shoulder, breathing onto onto the bared skin there, while he slowly squeezed tighter, the embrace one that was a lot more personal than the others.

And all she could think was that she couldn't have thought of a better response.

For a while, neither of them said anything. He continued to hug her, as if trying to convey what he wanted to say through his actions instead, and she closed her eyes and leaned closer into him, adjusting her arms to get more comfortable.

It wasn't over any time soon.

And that really was something. It wasn't a hug of greeting, not the awkward ones she gave when she tried to comfort someone close—

It was nice, whatever it could be classed as.

His voice was quiet when he broke the silence to say, “I'm glad it's you.”

Her chest felt warm.

-x-

While Adrien was excitable most of the time, there was a difference to how overcome with enthusiasm he was once she'd come clean.

They'd been interrupted before, back when she'd first told him, by Nino coming home from work. And where Nino was, Alya didn't take too long to appear either, and Adrien didn't even have to ask her whether she was ready for them to also know.

He played it off like nothing had happened.

So, of course, Nino had looked at how closely they were sitting, staring at them in suspicious.

Adrien had blurted out, “We're going out on a date.”

And to learn that he still wanted to, even after her confession, was relieving.

The date didn't turn out to be excessively romantic, but it was drastically different to all the other times they'd hung out together.

For one, he didn't have his face blurred when they were outside together, and his hand was awkwardly holding her own, neither of them having found a comfortable way to hold each other.

It was a little ridiculous how happy it made her.

The looks that were sent their way were less than normal, but the big change was that no one was taking pictures of them. It wasn't as though he was wearing completely different clothes; jeans—which he rarely wore as Noir—but the t-shirt was familiar, one of his favourites so the logo was starting to peel off.

But the second glances were because of his looks, not for who he was.

It was just so _strange_.

“How does it work?” Marinette asked, curious.

“Hell if I know,” he admitted. “I just—I turn something on, and then no one's able to figure out it's me? Unless I clue them in, you know? Magic's weird.”

Although they were out in public, no one was sitting near them in the café. Their drinks had already been delivered, and neither of them had ordered food, so she went on to question, “Something?”

Adrien lifted up his hand and gestured towards the ring on his finger.

It wasn't something she'd ever really paid attention to.

Baffled, all she could reply was, “What?”

“I don't know exactly how it works, but if I twist it while wanting it to work, it changes colour,” Adrien explained, hands dropping back down to wrap around his mug. “Then, it does the thing with my face. It really freaked me out when it first happened.”

But that—it sounded so absurd, but it wasn't as though she could say that he was lying.

“I don't have anything like that.”

“You might,” Adrien rebutted. “Did you—I got this ring, like, a week before everything changed for me. Are you sure you didn't buy _anything_?”

She grimaced. “I don't really remember.”

“Right.” His expression became sombre. “It was so long ago for you.”

Rather than meet his gaze, she stirred her drink, staring down as the liquid swirled in the mug.

“Can I ask some questions?” he requested. “I promise they won't be too bad.”

It didn't take her long to reply, “Only if I can ask you some, too.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and she didn't need to look up to see his smile. “That sounds fair.”

There were a lot of similarities between them. What they considered to be their power system, where they had to recharge and felt tired if they used too much one day, and the way that their talents seemed to mirror each other.

While Marinette could use her powers in her everyday life, Adrien wasn't so lucky.

“What am I going to destroy?” he said, rolling his eyes. “I guess it's useful to get annoying packaging off, but it's not like I can just break everything in my way. That's a bit too violent for my liking.”

She wasn't shy to admit, “I'm too lazy to do my laundry sometimes, so I just make some new clothes.”

“Out of thin air?” Adrien questioned, elbows on the table as he rested his head in his hands, curiosity clear across his expression. “Or do you have a base to start from? Do you have to think really hard about what material?”

With a grin, she pointed out, “That's a lot of questions.”

“Does it matter if you're not very specific?” he asked. “Like, what if you ended up with only one hole for your legs? Does that _happen_?”

“It hasn't yet,” she replied, patiently. Luka had asked much the same things over the years. “It just—it just _works_. If it's a vague thought in my head, if I want it to happen, it... I guess it comes to life, if that makes sense? I can think really hard, sure, but it's usually what I want without even realising it properly.”

He looked enthralled. “That sounds complicated.”

“As much as yours?” Marinette raised her eyebrows.

“Fair,” he agreed. “It's weird.”

She beamed. “We're weird.”

Adrien's expression could only be described as fond. “Yeah, we are.”

Their conversation went to more neutral topics, ones where they wouldn't mind being overheard, and her cheeks were hurting by the end of it. Adrien had made her laugh until barely any sound was coming out, mostly breath, and he wasn't in much better condition.

“You're bad for my health,” he accused.

She winked.

He held her hand when they left the café. But it wasn't as awkward as before; their fingers were linked together, shoulders not bumping as they walked, and she felt like she might've been walking slower than normal to make it last.

Adrien wasn't pushing her to walk any faster.

He walked with her to the front of her building.

Then, with a light squeeze to her hand, he confessed, “I'm sorry for the things I said about you.”

“It's okay,” she assured him, honest. “I'm sorry for being so rude to you, too. I just—I didn't like Noir.”

He grinned. “Didn't?”

She shoved him away without much force, and he laughed, pretending to stumble. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Adrien confirmed, no sadness or disappointment present. “I'm just—I'm so happy it's you.”

With a smile, she replied, “Don't get it into your head I'll repair anything you break.”

“I'd never,” he swore, going as far as to put his free hand on his heart. “But what about if I ask really nicely?”

She snorted. “We'll see.”

“I'm good at being nice,” he stated, haughtily raising his head in the air. “People love me for a reason, and so do you.”

“Love's a bit of a strong word—”

“Hush, I'm talking,” he interrupted, but his words were shaky from laughter. “I have a confession to make.”

She squinted. “What could you possibly have to tell me now?”

“Well,” he started, reaching up to run a hand through is hair before it settled on his neck, the tell-tale pose that he was feeling nervous. “I might've, maybe, been a bit obsessed with you when I was younger.”

Startled, all she could say was, “What?”

“You were just—you were so _cool_ ,” Adrien gushed. “The way you made that stepladder with fallen branches to get that kitten down? It was the best fucking thing, Marinette.”

She blinked.

“I had a t-shirt and everything,” he admitted. “It was some cheap one, and the print peeled off after, like, two washes, but I _loved_ it.”

That was flattering and surreal to think of all at once. “Thanks?”

He beamed. “You're welcome.”

“So,” she started, lips curling into a wide smile. “You were my fan?”

“Very present tense,” Adrien corrected. “Even more so because we're dating now. That gives you a lot of cool points.”

She snorted. “Gives me less, you mean.”

“That's _offensive_.”

Linking their hands together, Marinette pointed out, “I'm still letting you be my boyfriend for my birthday party, aren't I?”

“Oh,” he started, sounding pleased. “I've been promoted to boyfriend now, have I?”

“It's a fair trade for my cool points,” she replied.

With a laugh, he agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ( ´ ▽ ` )❤


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